Guilt
by Alysun
Summary: Draco sits and thinks. . .and stresses out.
1. Guilt

For anyone I know. . .  
  
Extension Papers. . .  
  
His eyes filled with unwanted tears. Somewhere deep down, past the pain, he glared at himself. Not emotion! Stupid, Stupid, STUPID! Hot tears splashed down his face.  
  
NO!!! Christ. . . he covered his face with his hands, glad that no-one was there to see him. Why was it so? He should be delighted. . . or stressed out, but not. . .guilty? Not guilty for something that asked for praise? Maybe he should ask to be excused from taking the damn extension papers on his OWLS. . .  
  
This was all wrong. He couldn't stop the tears; they came faster than he could stop them. Giving up, surrendering to confusion and self pity, and curled up on his bed, sobs wracking his body, his head feeling as though someone was attacking him with a sledgehammer.  
  
Did no-one understand? Why weren't his parents happy? Did it mean nothing? They always wanted to do well, and now, when he had finally achieved something truly outstanding, they shrugged it off as though it was nothing! One person had been happy for him. . . one. Thanks, Blaise, he thought, numbly.  
  
But then, Pansy. . .the one person he had expected to be happy for him was. . . bitter? Maybe he was just overreacting, misreading the signs. . .but it hurt. . . he felt guilty for beating her. . .so maybe she wasn't a genius, but she did as well as he did in most classes. . .it was just a couple of extension papers, damn-it! WHY?! Just because Snape wanted to try him out for some dumb extension paper in Potions, and MacGonagoll for one in Transfiguration. . .it didn't Mean anything. . .bitterly, he turned it over and over in his mind. . .  
  
He felt empty and guilty, so painfully guilty for getting this.  
  
His tears had stopped without him noticing. Slowly, unwillingly, he stretched himself out, and rolled off the bed to stand on the floor. Gradually, step by step, he made his way to the bathroom where he washed his face in the freezing water that gushed from the tap.  
  
Turning it off, he stood in front of the mirror, looking into the eyes of the dripping imagery of himself. He would have stayed longer, staring, wondering, but knew the bathroom mirror too well; sarcastic git that it was.  
  
He reached for a towel and wiped his face dry. Dropping the towel to the floor, he left the bathroom, and wandered, absent of sensible conversation, back into his silent dorm. He stood still, swaying slightly on his feet, swallowed by the suffocating silence.  
  
One person. . . 


	2. Apathy

All characters J. K. R. 's. Plot mine.  
  
Apathy  
  
The next night ~  
  
Draco still felt cold.  
  
It was horrible, the feeling of seclusion. The emptiness of rejection.  
  
Did he actually belong? In Slytherin. Of course he did, he didn't belong anywhere else. . .but. . . but what? He had no real friends there to speak of. Crabbe and Goyle. Too thick to comprehend anything as deep as Draco. Pansy. Nice, intellectual, but not on the same wave length as he was. Blaise. Someone he could laugh with occasionally, but never confine in. . . That's what he wanted.  
  
The bare simplicity of it hurt. He knew that that was all he wanted, all he needed, but refused to admit it. . .  
  
He was a Malfoy. Malfoy's need nobody.  
  
Right?  
  
Someone to confine in? Was it really just that simple? It had to be more complex than this. . . had to be. The loneliness, the hurt, the isolation. . . just from that one thing? Was it possible? Was he going insane? It felt like it. . .  
  
All over some stupid bloody Extension papers. . .  
  
Maybe it wasn't so bad. After all, he had. . .  
  
He failed to come up with a good point. He stared vacantly at the opposite wall, not seeing it. He wasn't thinking now. He wasn't doing anything. Just the vacant emptiness, void of thought, emotion or needs, the emptiness named Apathy.  
  
He rocked quietly to himself. He didn't need friends, right? He was fine. Absolutely ok. . . he was Draco! Draco. . .Dragon. Nothing could harm a dragon. Nothing ever got to it. A solitary beast, a hunter, a ruthless killer. So nothing could harm Draco? That was his namesake. That was the picture Lucius Malfoy, his Father had painted for him.  
  
No, had had painted for him. His Father would never do something when someone else could do it for him. Maybe that was the other half of his guilt? The feeling of constant inadequacy, failure.  
  
He kept rocking, staring at the wall.  
  
Poor inadequate Draco, friendless and alone. . .his family doesn't care, and he doesn't have any friends! He was bordering on hysteria. Why would anyone care about Draco?! Arrogant, stuck up Draco, not as "big" as he makes out to be!  
  
He could see the faces of all the people he knew in his mind, jeering, laughing, gloating, sneering, ridiculing him, and showing him up to be a fool. . .  
  
His head hurt. He couldn't sleep.  
  
He couldn't cry any more. All his tears had been used up the previous night, leaving him weak and empty inside as well as out.  
  
He didn't care. He knew that his grades were starting to slip already, but he didn't care. . . Homework, left undone, not handed in, class work not done, notes left un-copied, he didn't care.  
  
What was the point?  
  
The worst thing , the very worst thing, was that he knew that there was no point in all this. All these feelings. The guilt, the apathy, the feeling of seclusion, had no cause. His life, compared to those of others, was comfortable. He had a good home, he had people he could talk with, he had good marks. But he still felt so empty. . . alone. 


End file.
